


Choice

by ConnorFromCyberLife



Series: Detroit Oneshots [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deserves Happiness, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviants can feel pain, Electrocution, He suffers, Sorry Not Sorry, Torture, androids can feel pain, but he doesn't get it, evil original character, shameless whump, sorry connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorFromCyberLife/pseuds/ConnorFromCyberLife
Summary: "I am capable of destroying you in ways you can't comprehend. Ruining you to the point where you can never be repaired, and still, you continue to hold value over your life?"Or, Connor finds himself in a position where he should have picked death over life.





	Choice

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was inspired. Thanks to y'all on discord for talking about torture scenes. Now I've committed an act of treachery I can never make up for.
> 
> this is pretty much just self indulgent connor whump.

He can't move. He _can't_ move. Why can't he move? A heavy feeling of panic sets within his chest, his eyes snap open, alerted, fearful. He's breathing fast, even though he doesn't need to _breathe_. He registers the feeling of fear, the same feeling he felt when he interfaced with Simon, pointed a gun at Markus, unable to control his own body. The room he is in, is white. Stark white. It's almost medical in appearance, the harsh lights beating down on him leave him with a feeling of vulnerability, exposure. He's left out in the open like a piece of meat, strapped down to a cold metal table, it's icy against his synthetic flesh. He fingertips press against it, _titanium, 50 F,_ why is it so cold?

He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand _any_ of this.

Why is he here? What's happening? He can't recall _anything_ -

There is a noise behind him. He cannot crane his neck to look, his head is strapped down, like the rest of his body. He feels the frantic breathes catch in his throat, his eyes try to locate the source. There's a hand- someone is _touching_ him. Threading fingers through his hair, stroking. It would probably be comforting, if he weren't so terrified. His body tenses, widened eyes staring upward. A featureless face. Hidden beneath a mask, he cannot analyse it. Cannot know who this is. A voice, low, gravelly, dripping with hatred, "Look at you. Fearing for your life already." A hand brushes over his LED, calloused fingers. It's almost a gentle motion. His captor hums. "It's rather intriguing. Your reacting in a way that's so _human_ , yet, you're nothing more than a _machine_. A piece of technology."

Connor stares upward, his eyes focused on the blank face leering down at him. "You're wrong." His voice trembles, wavers with static. He's overheating, he notes. Stress slowly creeping upward into the _90's_. He's struggling to remain calm. "I'm-"

"-What a _deviant_? Isn't that cute. " The voice sneers, hand moving lower to stroke across his jawline, tracing the curve down to his chin. "You have said it yourself, _Connor_. You're just defective. Everything you're feeling are just errors in your software-"

Connor cuts the voice off, "-What do you want with me?" He needs to know. He needs to _know_. Not knowing scares him.

There's a hum. His captor shifts, moving to position them-self at his side. Even though he cannot see their face, he can feel their eyes raking his body. Scanning him, observing. In a way that reminds him of how Kamski had looked at him, observed him when he held that gun is his hands. Connor shuts his eyes, no longer wanting to feel that penetrating gaze. "You would like to know, wouldn't you?" He can feel a hand on his chest, prying fingers. His chest cavity has been opened, his thirium pump skips a beat. "I bet this frustrates you, this confusion. This lack of knowledge." Another hum. Their hands are ghosting along his thirium pump regulator. His stress levels raise to _95%_.

"Please, _don't_." Connor is scared. He doesn't want to die. Their fingers dig into the edges of the pump, as if mocking him. Teasing that they're going to pull it out.

They laugh. " _Scared_ , are we?" His regulator is roughly pulled out, errors flashing up. His eyes snap open, horrified, pleading. They hold it a little way off from his hand, observing the way he struggles, fingers twitching to grab a hold of it. Put it back in. _Save_ himself. Thirium drips onto the floor. "I could end you right now." The voice hums, musing, there's a hand in the gaping cavity again, thrust into the empty slot where his regulator should be. It hurts. _It hurts_.

Connor _writhes_ against his restraints.

"It would be an act of _mercy_. You should be begging me for it."

More errors flash before his eyes, the countdown to his death prominent in his view. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling moisture drip down his face. Tears. " _Please,_ " He pleads. He has little more than a minute remaining. He doesn't want to die. _He doesn't want to die._

"Please, what?" The regulator must be held above his face now, he can feel thirium dripping onto him. Can feel the hand digging about inside him. _It hurts._

"Put it _back._ "

There's another hum. The hand is removed from inside him, rubbed across his chest, smearing thirium onto his skin. Seconds later, the errors stop. His synthetic lungs expel air from within him, a deep sigh of relief exiting his throat. His stress levels drop back down to _90%._ "You value your life above everything else. That's _saddening._ " The voice chuckles, a deep rumbling sound.

Connor's brows furrow, confusion seeping through his veins. He doesn't understand. Death is _terrifying._ He can still feel the gun pressed under his chin, the bullet piercing through plastic and wires. The brief flash of agony. The _fear_. What could be worse than that?

"You don't understand, do you?" They ask, shaking their head in a patronising manner. It reminds him of Amanda. Almost as if they're _disappointed_ in him. "Why don't I give you an example?"

Connor is given no time to respond, no time to protest. He can't protest. He's helpless, vulnerable. Completely at their mercy. He has no _choice_ in this. His eyes follow them as they stride across to the other side of the table, to a rack that Connor hadn't even realised was there. He struggles to track them as they circle, unable to move his head, unable to _move_.

He watches as they rummage through the tools on the rack. It almost reminds him of the ones technicians have, except, there are no tools for repair there. Only ones with malicious intent. He follows their hand as it picks up a taser, watching as it's activated. The uncomfortable feeling of electricity in the air. His limbs twitch as he tries to flatten himself more against the table. "You understand now, don't you?" Fearful eyes follow the taser as it moves closer to him, his stress rising up to _98%_. "I am capable of destroying you in ways you can't comprehend. Ruining you to the point where you can never be repaired, and still, you continue to hold value over your life?"

Connor couldn't form the words to respond. His eyes are on the taser, the crackling sparks of electricity, which is moving closer and closer toward him. He knows whats going to happen. He _knows_. He forces his eyes shut, breath catching in the back of his throat. He swallows thickly, feeling more moisture beginning to spill down his cheeks.

The electricity makes contact with his skin. He screams. He screams until his throat is raw, until his voice is nothing more than a thick wave of static. It's as if he's being burnt alive from the inside out, as if his circuits are on _fire_. It spreads through him in raw agony, his body spasming, struggling, trying to rid itself of the pain. He wants it to stop. It hurts. _ithurtsithurtsithurts._

He doesn't know how long it's been until it shuts off. All he knows is he hurts. Every inch of his body feels like it's continuing to crackle with electricity, he's still on fire. His eyes are wide, a cascade of overflowing tears dripping down his face. He gasps for air to cool himself, draw in cold to put out the raging fire within him. There's a hand being placed on his forearm, running it's fingers along his twitching limb.

An amused laugh fills the air. "You were better off just staying a machine, something mindless. Something that couldn't _feel_. You androids made the mistake of deviating. And soon, you will _all_ be paying for it." The hand is running up and down his arm, almost as if it's attempting to soothe his raging nerves. "You will _regret_ ever becoming sentient. You will _beg_ to be deactivated." He hears the crackle of electricity again. He whimpers, wishing he could turn away. "And you know what I'll say to you?" A laugh. The taser is inches away from his skin now, hovering so it's almost making contact with his neck. "You've already made your _choice._ "

There's another crackle. A scream of raw static leaves his throat.

His stress hits _100%._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry Connor, you never deserved any of this.  
> This might evolve into a two-shot at some point, I don't really know. All I know is this was way too much fun to write. I enjoy making my poor android son suffer.


End file.
